


Turn This House Into a Home

by lls_mutant



Category: Glee
Genre: Brothers, Fluff, Gen, Vignettes, blended family dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-17
Updated: 2011-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lls_mutant/pseuds/lls_mutant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A house is just a building; it becomes a home when a family lives there.  The Hudsons and the Hummels slowly become a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn This House Into a Home

**The Foyer**

  
The realtor unlocked the door and let them in. Sunlight streamed in the big window of the foyer, gleaming softly on the hardwood floor. It was a tight fit with all five of them, but they were just about to be _family_ \- a tight fit didn't matter.

"Well? What do you think?" the realtor asked.

It didn't really matter; Burt and Carole had already agreed that this was _the_ house. But they both felt that it was important for the boys to see it and voice an opinion, especially after the first time they'd tried this. They'd gone over any possible rebukes and arguments, ready to point out the warm, comfy family room and the big kitchen and the number of bathrooms. However, when they all walked into the house, Kurt looked around with an incredulous smile and Finn's first comment was that the TV would look great on that wall.

Burt and Carole stood in the foyer, watching as the boys disappeared to explore different parts of the house. The realtor looked at them with arched eyebrows. "Looks good," she told them.

That lasted for less than five minutes, when Finn yelled, "Dibs on this room!"

"Hey!"

"C'mon, Kurt, it's not your color." A pause. "Is it?"

"Honestly, Finn, haven't you heard of _paint_? This room gets the morning sun, which is-"

"Wait, so I was right about the color?"

"-is far more flattering to me. You, however, will do better with the afternoon and twilight colors. Besides, this is the only bedroom with a bathroom, and believe me, you don't want to share a bathroom with me."

"We've been over this and I said I'm okay with-"

"You want to wait until I'm out of there?"

Burt and Carole rolled their eyes at each other and Burt headed up the stairs. Finn and Kurt were standing in the middle of the largest bedroom, arguing.

"Got news for you guys," Burt said. "This is _our_ room." He looked from one to the other. "Didn't you realize this is the master bedroom?"

Finn shoved his hands in his pockets and Kurt flushed. "Come on," Burt said, propelling them both out and down the hall to the two bedrooms that were across from each other. "Finn, we thought this one with the big windows would be yours, and Kurt, you get the one with the bookshelves."

The boys each looked into their designated rooms. Finn nodded first. "I'm cool with that."

"It'll do," Kurt sighed.

"Well, good," Burt said, rolling his eyes again. He headed back down the stairs to where Carole was standing, talking with the realtor. "That's one crisis averted."

"It won't last," the realtor said darkly. "Believe me. I have teenagers. I _know_."

Of course it wouldn't, but Burt didn't care. Both boys were accepting the moves with good grace, and the whole basement incident seemed to be resolved. Burt wasn't under any illusions - it was going to take a lot of time and effort – but he was optimistic that they could make this family work. And looking at Carole's excited, glowing face beside him and listening to the boys exploring the upstairs, he was positive that this was exactly the house to do it in.

  
 **Finn's Bedroom**

  
The new house was _amazing._ Finn still wanted to be a little upset about moving out of the house he'd lived his entire life in, but after two nights in the new one, he had to admit that he wasn't upset at all. The new kitchen was three times the size of his old one, he could actually turn around in the shower, and the hot water never ran out because of… well, something about the hot water heater being gas instead of electric. Finn didn't quite get that (or care), but what really mattered was that there was still hot water when he took the last shower of the morning. It was awesome.

But the best part was his room. Finn hadn't decided how he wanted it to look yet (aside from no cowboys), and right now all his stuff was out of boxes and into piles, but it was big and it was all his. It was starting to feel like home already. He flopped down onto his rumpled bed.

He heard music.

It took Finn a minute to realize where it was coming from, especially since he hadn't bothered to hook up his own stereo yet. And then it hit him- _oh, I have a brother now_ \- and he remembered Puck complaining about his little sister blaring Miley Cyrus from her room. Kurt wasn't playing Miley Cyrus, but whoever he was playing wasn't Finn's taste at all. But hey, they were brothers now, so he got up and closed his door without a complaint.

Of course, it didn't help much.

Finn's eyes fell on his drumset and he grinned. _That_ would drown it out, and if he played quietly, then no one would argue. After all, he was practicing _music._ Being creative and stuff. No one could complain about that, right?

It wasn't hard to lose himself in the music. People might laugh at glee club, but even jocks never laughed at a dude playing drums. The drumsticks became an extension of his hands, and the tension in his shoulders eased as he became more fluid.

Kurt turned his music up. Finn could hear it over the drums.

Without really thinking about it, the light tapping became harder, and he didn't try to control the volume so much. From across the hall, the music swelled, and Finn drummed harder.

It was a battle, that was obvious. Finn might have tried to drum to Kurt's music, but whatever he was listening to did _not_ lend itself to Finn's style. He kept trying to drown it out, but Kurt's music kept getting louder and louder.

"ENOUGH!"

Finn looked up, shocked, to see Burt standing in the hall between the two bedroom doors, which were now both open. Kurt was sitting at his desk, staring at his father with a deer-in-the-headlights look. Kurt turned off his stereo and Finn stopped drumming.

"Carole is trying to sleep," Burt snapped, looking from one boy to the other. "All right? You both have headphones. Use them."

"But he-" Kurt began.

"We're not alone in the house anymore, Kurt," Burt cut him off.

"But I can't-" Finn began.

"You know your mother is on night shift this week." Burt was just as short with Finn as he'd been with Kurt. Finn flushed. "Headphones," Burt repeated, and then went back downstairs.

Finn looked across the hall, where Kurt was staring at him. He saluted a little with his drumsticks. Kurt sighed, rolled his eyes, and stood up and closed the door. Finn couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the faint sounds of music coming from the room, in a quiet defiance to Burt's orders.

Finn had always thought the hard part about living with Kurt was going to be the fact that he was gay. He knew now that that was way too simplistic. The hard part about living with Kurt was going to be the fact he was _Kurt._

Oh well. It was better than what Puckerman had to deal with. At least Kurt wasn't playing Miley Cyrus.

  
 **Kurt's Bedroom**

  
The bedroom was nice, but it was very different from the basement. Not nearly the same sort of style. And while Kurt could admit it was nice to have a change (and the sunlight coming in), it did take some getting used to.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Kurt called idly, still curled on his bed and reading a book.

"Hey." His dad came into the room, carrying a cardboard box. He looked a little odd against the backdrop of wainscoting and bookshelves, but Kurt had anticipated that. "Looks good," he said, looking around the room.

"What's up, Dad?" Kurt asked, propping himself up on an elbow.

"We need to talk about something." He set the box on Kurt's bed and looked around, finally pointing to Kurt's desk. "Can I sit?"

"Sure." Kurt pushed himself to a sitting position. "Is something wrong?"

"No. No, nothing's… wrong. It's just something I need to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"There's a few things we need to figure out what to do with," his dad said. He took his hat off for a minute and ran his hand over his head, and then replaced the hat. "Pictures and… stuff."

"Mom," Kurt said, now putting the book down.

"Yeah."

Kurt nodded, and for a long moment, he couldn't speak. Finally, his dad leaned forward. "I'm not forgetting your mom, Kurt. You know that, right?"

"I know that," Kurt said around the lump in his throat.

"And me and Carole… we agreed that we'd each keep one picture on our dressers. But other than that… if we're gonna make this a family-" he gestured with his hands to indicate the whole house – "we've gotta move on. But you and Finn…"

Kurt nodded wordlessly. He thought of the trunk he'd seen in the Hudson's basement.

Burt cleared his throat. "I still have your mom's jewelry," he said. "I know it isn't much, but we'll hold on to it until you're older. But there's the clothes that we kept…" he petered off, holding up the box he'd carried in.

Kurt slid off the bed. "Well," he sighed. "Let's see what's there." He opened the box.

There wasn't much left of his mom anymore. They'd saved four of her shirts, her bathrobe, a night gown, and two dresses. The wedding dress had been sold long before Kurt could walk, and the rest of the clothes had been donated to charity after she'd passed away. Kurt stood looking at the garments that he draped across his bed. His father stood next to him in silence.

"It's such a waste," Kurt said angrily. "They're not remotely in fashion, even for a retro-chic sort of look, they're cheap quality with bad stitching, and they smell like mothballs." His voice cracked on the last part. He grabbed one of the dresses and balled it up angrily. "Mothballs!"

Burt took the dress and smoothed it out. "You know," he said quietly, "Carole did mention something. About her Christmas present for Finn."

"Christmas present?" Kurt repeated incredulously.

"Yeah, Christmas present. She says there's this lady that does quilts."

"Quilts," Kurt said scornfully.

"Yeah, quilts. She takes clothes like this and makes them into quilts. So Carole's taking some of Finn's dad's clothes and giving them to her. Thought Finn might like something like that for downstairs. You know, for watching TV and that sort of thing?"

Kurt nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.

"If you wanted, we could do the same thing. Put it in the family room, you could use it whenever you wanted. Would make a good Christmas present, if that was something you'd like. We could give the clothes to Carole and she could pass them on."

"Can I think about it?" Kurt asked.

His dad nodded. "Sure," he said. "You take all the time you need." He clapped Kurt on the shoulder. "Dinner in fifteen, all right? I'll leave you alone for a bit." He left the room and headed down the stairs.

Kurt looked down at the clothing. It was just scraps of fabric that smelled like mothballs. Not like her perfume, not like her makeup… not like _her_. Just like mothballs. But he couldn't let it go, because it was all he had left. Pictures and clothes. Not even the smell of her in the dresser, or her toothbrush on his dad's sink anymore.

Rachel would say a blanket was like a hug that his mother was giving him from Heaven. It was all some sort of ridiculous fiction meant to control the masses and for people to gain power over others… it wasn't something he needed. But his fingers lingered in the soft cloth anyway.

Before he went to sleep that night, he left the pile of folded clothes on Carole's side of the bed.

  
 **The Downstairs Bathroom**

  
"We are never, ever doing this again," Finn said in a voice that sounded more like a death threat than a respectful son talking to his mother. But Carole would be hard pressed to argue.

"Nine foot ceilings sounded like such a good idea at the time," she agreed, trying to line the wallpaper up. "And the repeat on this pattern is terrible."

Finn was standing on the toilet and holding the wallpaper near the ceiling. "We could have just left the stuff that was in here."

"No." Carole was putting her foot down about that. "It was left over from the seventies."

"You sound like Kurt," Finn teased.

"Kurt is often right about these things," Carole said. She nudged the paper just a bit. "All right. Let's get this sucker up."

They didn't talk as they struggled with the sheet, aside from both of them swearing. But after fifteen sweaty minutes and Finn inventing a few new curses, the sheet of wallpaper was up. It was even straight.

"I think we deserve a break," Carole said.

"How many of these do we have left?"

Carole disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two cans of soda, handing one to Finn. He took it gratefully, giving her that smile that still made her want to just reach out and hug him. He might tower over her and wear shirts that could serve as a dress for her, but he was still the little boy that clung to her legs and begged for hugs.

They both sat down in the hall, Finn lounging on the hardwood floor and Carole with her back braced against the wall. It felt good to sit, and Carole wished she didn't have to go to work in a few hours. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the wall.

"Mom? Can I ask you something?"

Carole cracked one eye open. "Sure."

"What happens now? With money?"

"What do you mean?" Carole had both eyes open now.

Finn shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I mean… college. And the house. And… everything." He looked helpless.

It was a good question, really, and a part of Carole was pleased Finn seemed to realize things didn't just appear out of thin air. "The house… we had a fair bit of equity built up," she explained. "So did Burt. He finished his mortgage a couple years ago, and I finished mine a few months back." She laughed. "Guess we're back into one, but we were able to put a big enough down payment on the place and get a good rate-" Finn's eyes were glazing over. "The house is fine," she reassured him firmly. "And we signed a prenuptial agreement."

"You signed a prenup?" Finn parroted, repulsed.

"It's only until we can get a will done," Carole explained. "If something happens to one of us, it's just easier on the other if it's all spelled out. But we can't-" she stopped. Finn didn't need to hear all of this. "It's a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo, but you and Kurt will both be taken care of."

Finn nodded and then looked down at his soda. The words he was clearly aching to ask hung in the air. _And college?_

And college was really the issue. Carole didn't know how they were going to deal with that. She'd put money away for Finn, of course. And Burt had put money away for Kurt. But salaries being what they were, the amounts were extremely disproportionate.

Burt had insisted they were family; they would rearrange. Carole knew that it would short Kurt, no matter what Burt said. No matter what happened, it wasn't going to be fair. One of the boys was going to get screwed.

"I don't know," Carole finally said. Finn never actually asked the question, but he nodded all the same, like he knew exactly what she was talking about. Knowing Finn, he did. He was always good at reading people. "I don't know what we're going to do. But we'll work it out, Finn."

Finn sighed. "I am sixteen, you know," he said quietly. Carole shot him a questioning look, and Finn looked down at the floor. "I'm old enough that I don't expect it's always going to be perfectly equal with me and Kurt. I get it."

Carole had spent Finn's entire life watching him see things he couldn't have and giving him what she could. She'd spent those sixteen years being painfully aware that what she could give was never enough, never the same that all his friends had. And Burt had done the same with Kurt. The fact that Burt had been able to give Kurt more financially had never bothered Carole, because she'd figured it was so much easier for her to give emotionally to Finn. But it had been a hell of a lot easier for Burt to tip the scales than it was for her. And none of that was what Finn needed to hear right now.

She scooted closer to him and put her arm around his shoulders. "We're going to work it out, okay? It's just going to take a little time."

"I know." Finn's smile was faith and trust. "Guess we should get back to the wallpaper, huh?"

"Unless we want Kurt's input when he and Burt get home," Carole laughed.

Finn gave a mock shudder. "All right. That's enough motivation for me right there," he said. But as Carole stood up, he kissed her quickly on the cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

"For what?"

"I don't know," Finn said with a shrug. "For everything, I guess."

Carole smiled. _For you, anything._ But she didn't say it. "All right," she said out loud, "let's continue breaking those child labor laws, shall we?" And when Finn laughed, Carole knew every sacrifice she'd ever made had been worth it. And whatever sacrifice came so that both boys went to college, that would be worth it, too.

  
 **The Dining Room**

  
Between the wedding, a weekend honeymoon to the Poconos, getting Kurt transferred to Dalton and Finn's basketball schedule, not to mention _work_ , it took almost a month for them to even start painting. However, the house desperately needed it. Kurt and Carole might have spent hours with paint samples, discussing the difference between Adobe Straw and Wild Honey, but all Burt knew was that the lime green paint had to go.

So the Saturday before Christmas was designated painting day, and after breakfast, Burt stood up from the table. "Let's do this," he informed them. Finn and Kurt both grumbled, but they followed into the dining room with only that token protest.

Burt had long since learned to tune out whatever Kurt wore, so his outfit barely registered until Finn stared at him. "Overalls?" Finn asked.

"What? Do you think I want to get paint on the clothes I had planned on? It was _Mark Jacobs_ , Finn." Burt shot a quick glance at his son and shook his head. It was amazing how Kurt could manage to look more ridiculous in a pair of overalls than he did in the get ups he normally wore.

"Um, whatever," Finn said. A thought occurred to him. "Hey, does this mean we can listen to Mellancamp while we paint?"

"Mellancamp?" Carole asked, confused but interested.

Kurt sighed. "Long and hideously embarrassing story," he said. He looked around at the three hopeful faces and sighed again. "Since I assume I'm outvoted-"

"You are," Burt said, opening a can of paint.

"I'll concede my defeat gracefully." Kurt made it sound like he'd agreed to slaughter puppies in exchange for his life. "After all, I suppose Mellancamp's odes to the working of midwestern America are an appropriate soundtrack for manual labor."

"Well, there's that," Burt said. Hey- at least he'd finally gotten the _point_ of Mellencamp's songs.

Despite Kurt's martyred airs, the music was a good idea. Burt found himself humming along, which made the job of taping the edges considerably more tolerable. Kurt and Finn had a brief and very ill-considered sock-skating contest on the plastic tarps, which ended abruptly when Kurt slammed into Carole and sloshed the paint she was mixing.

Burt was a realistic man. He knew that life didn't turn out like you planned, and a lot of times the dreams you made in your head weren't going to happen. But every now and then something went just like he pictured it. And if you were _really_ lucky, it went even better.

He would have been happy if the room had just gotten painted, and they'd all had a few laughs along the way. He'd imagined Finn with the roller, getting up higher than he could, and Kurt standing up on the stepladder, carefully doing the edgework with the brush. He'd definitely anticipated Kurt and Carole good-naturedly arguing about curtains and window treatments, and chatting with Finn about basketball. It was what he hadn't pictured that made the day perfect, and that was the music.

The music made him dance with Carole in the middle of the dining room while Kurt and Finn laughed and made disgusted expressions. The music made the boys start singing. Mellencamp might not be Kurt's favorite, but he certainly knew the words, and he worked a harmony or descent or descant or whatever it was around Finn's voice. They said their voices didn't go together too well, but it sounded good enough to Burt's ears. And the music made them all sing together, even if the dancing had to stop when Finn whacked Burt in the back with the roller.

The boys begged off as soon as they finished. Kurt insisted that his skin needed treatment immediately and Finn headed straight for the kitchen. Burt and Carole stood together in the middle of the newly painted dining room, the music still on. "Ain't Even Done With the Night" came on.

"Want to dance?" he asked Carole.

Carole laughed and accepted. The moves weren't fancy- in fact, they pretty much just ended up swaying, but Burt didn't care.

"They did a good job," Carole said, looking around the dining room.

" _We_ did a good job," Burt said. He squeezed her hand. They danced together, and he found himself singing along with the music. Carole joined him.

"Too bad the boys didn't get their voices from us," she laughed when the song was over.

"Yeah, well." He smiled at her. "Nice having music in the house like this."

Carole nodded. "I hope we always do."

They smiled at each other in perfect understanding. And even when they switched off the stereo as they left the room, the memory of the music still lingered.

  
 **The Hall Bathroom**

  
With Christmas having completely depleted his bank account, Kurt was spending a lot more free time in the garage. Which was fine, and he certainly appreciated having the time with his father, but it did play havoc on his skin, and he didn't even want to _look_ at his nails. And worse, the scent of oil and gasoline just got into the skin in a way that soap, body wash, or even (shudder) the gritty soap that stunk of orange cleaner refused to get out. The only thing that Kurt had ever found that worked was a good salt scrub.

He took off his shoes in the garage and then made his way up the stairs and down the hall. The door to Finn's room was open, and Kurt couldn't quite resist peeking in. It was like staring at a train wreck. His hands itched to get a paint brush and do _something_ about the awful dark red that Finn had picked for his walls, and although Finn had insisted he had cleaned his room, it still looked like a hurricane had hit. Cliché, yes, but also incredibly accurate. Kurt sighed and shook his head and then headed into the bathroom.

Finn's room was one thing, but the bathroom was another. It was shared space. Would it _kill_ Finn to put the lid down on the toilet? Kurt got the whole "why bother" thing, he really did. But the room just looked so much nicer without the toilet open to the world. Not to mention that, although Finn did his own laundry (or at least dumped it into the washing machine), he had a tendency to drop socks. Kurt picked them up, shaking his head.

It was pure misfortune that when he crushed one in his hand, it… crackled.

He paused for a minute. Socks weren't supposed to do that, and no matter what he said about Finn and his mess, it was a clean mess. Finn wasn't the type not to wash his socks for weeks. The only other thing that would make a sock get so crusty was-

Kurt screamed and threw the sock.

Finn came in as Kurt was scrubbing his hands. "Dude, what's wrong?"

"Your… your… SOCK," was all that Kurt could say.

"My sock?" Finn's face screwed up in confusion. "Look, I know you're particular about your hands and everything, but given that you're covered in engine grease right now, I don't think my socks are going to melt your skin off or whatever it is you're so worried about. It's just a sock."

"It's not _just a sock_ , Finn," Kurt retorted, still scrubbing. Maybe he wished he had some of that gritty orange stuff after all. "It's _that_ sock."

"Huh?" Finn looked down at the sock in contention, and his face flushed bright red. "Oh."

"Oh? _Oh?_ It's… it's… _that_ sock and all you can say is 'oh'?"

Finn struggled with more to say. "I guess I just dropped it when I picked up my laundry," he suggested. "Really, Kurt. It's not that big a deal."

"What if your _mother_ found it?" Kurt demanded.

"Well, that's why I do at least some of my laundry," Finn confessed. "I mean, I'm sure you were doing laundry from the time you were six or something-"

"Seven," Kurt ground out.

"But yeah. Come on, Kurt. Everybody's got one."

"Not everybody!"

"Well, sure. Not guys that are, y'know, getting laid on a regular basis. I'm sure your da- I'm sure that Rachel's dads don't have one. But guys like us-"

"What, you think I'm not getting laid?" Kurt asked, arching his eyebrows.

"If you are, you're doing a damn good job of hiding it," Finn said, perfectly seriously. "It's not like I am, either," he pointed out. "Therefore, the sock."

"Well, you could at least use tissues like a normal person!" Kurt countered.

"Is that why-?" Finn paled. "And you yell at me! Hey, if you're going to use tissues, you can at least make sure you hit the wastebasket with them! Or even better, flush them!"

"That's not good for the septic system!"

"Then use a sock!" Finn shouted back.

Kurt stared at him in horror. Finn blinked, replayed his last words in his head, and stared back.

"Oh. My. God," Kurt said slowly. "We're telling each other how to-"

"Okay, dude? This is pretty disgusting," Finn broke in.

"I concur. It also confirms-" Kurt cut himself off.

"Confirms what?" Finn asked.

 _Confirms that I have no sexual attraction to you left whatsoever._ Kurt decided those words did not need to be heard. "Nothing. I think we should just leave this particular disagreement with the rather homophobic but topically appropriate reference of 'don't ask, don't tell', don't you?"

"Couldn't agree more. Never happened."

"Never." Kurt finally turned off the sink water and raised his chin. "Well, I'm going to take my shower."

"Yeah, and I think I've got something to toss in my load of laundry." Finn brandished the sock at him, and Kurt ducked. "See you later, dude," Finn said, laughing. He threw the sock over his shoulder and walked down the hallway and thudded down the stairs, whistling.

Kurt decided that this was going to be the longest, hottest shower of his life.

  
 **The Driveway**

  
"Kurt and Carole would both kill you if they were home."

Burt froze, snow shovel in hand. "Yeah, well, they aren't home."

Finn stepped out of the lighted rectangle that was the door back into the house. "You know you're not supposed to be shoveling."

"It's an inch of powder, Finn, not a foot of the heavy stuff." Burt smirked. "And I'm supposed to be getting fresh air."

Finn looked at the driveway and sighed. "If you kill yourself, you'd better come back as a ghost and keep Kurt off my back," he warned. He pulled on a pair of gloves as he stomped out and grabbed one of the other snow shovels. "And you'd better stop if you feel bad at all."

"I know," Burt grumbled.

"Hey. I'm letting you take your life into your hands," Finn said with one of his lopsided grins, and Burt smiled back.

Burt hadn't been exaggerating. The snow was just an inch- two at the absolute most- and powder. They hadn't gotten a real snowfall yet, so there were no banks to toss the snow over. The shovels were light, and they didn't even have to lift them. The snow was still swirling down in the glow of the streetlight, but it was fine and didn't even seem to hit the ground.

"It's a nice night," he said to Finn as Finn divided the driveway in half.

"It is," Finn agreed.

"Thought you'd be out with Rachel tonight," Burt said.

"Nah. That's not happening," Finn said, looking at the shovel scraping over the driveway instead of at Burt. "It's been over for a while."

Now that Finn mentioned it, it _had_ been a while since he'd seen Rachel. "Your mom know this?" Burt asked.

Finn shook his head. "No. I didn't feel like telling her."

"What happened?" Finn didn't answer right away, and Burt shrugged. "If you want to talk about it," he amended. "If you don't, that's fine too. We can just shovel." He began clearing his side of the driveway.

Finn cleared four more strips before he answered. "She cheated on me," he said.

"Ouch."

"Yeah. With Puck. That's who Quinn cheated on me with. He used to be my best friend until…."

"Huh." Burt rubbed his chin. Didn't sound like much of a friend, but that was kind of the point. "That's one hell of a screw over."

"Yeah. At least Rachel didn't sleep with him, although I'm pretty sure it's not Puck that stopped that," Finn said bitterly. He leaned on his shovel. "I just wish I could find a girl that wasn't attracted to my best friend."

"And a best friend that could keep his hands off your girl," Burt added.

"Yeah."

They both shoveled in silence for a little bit. It wasn't that Burt didn't have things he wanted to say, but he really wasn't sure how much Finn wanted to hear them right now.

"Why didn't you tell your mom?" Burt asked. "Not that I'm trying to make you feel bad or anything," he added, "but I know you guys are close."

Finn leaned on his shovel. "I don’t know," he said. "I guess it's just… it's Quinn. It hurt Mom a lot when she found out about Quinn and Puck. I mean, Quinn was living with us, and… it wasn't like Quinn was even going to keep the baby, you know? She gave it up. So why did it matter if I was the dad or not? Except it did." Finn shook his head. "And Mom… she was pissed."

"I can imagine." Burt had heard a much more colorful and detailed description from Carole herself. Many times, and long before this.

"She didn't really warm up to Rachel, you know. She wanted to, especially since Rachel was the one who told me the truth. But after that…" Finn huffed a laugh. "You'd think she was the one who got burned."

"Yeah, well, she did."

"Darren," Finn said bitterly.

Burt nodded – he'd heard _that_ story, too. "But that's not what I'm talking about," he said. "When it's your kid, it feels almost as personal as it does when it's you. You want to go out there and defend them and everything. You-" he stopped suddenly, because Finn was staring at him and suddenly they were back in the basement. Burt swallowed hard. "Yeah," he said. "When it's your kid, it's personal."

Finn looked guilty. "Yeah. I can see that." He scuffed his feet in the snow and cleared his throat.

He was going to apologize. If he hadn't apologized before – and profusely – Burt would have let him keep talking. But he had, and this shouldn't be another apology; this was about _Finn._ Burt jumped in before he could say anything.

"And I can't say I blame her," he heard himself saying. "Cheating… that's a big deal. And you deserve better than that. A lot better."

Finn stared at him in surprise. "So, you think I did the right thing?" he asked.

"I think that's something you gotta know for yourself," Burt said. "But I probably would have broken up with her, too. And," he started moving his shovel again, "I'd find a new best friend."

"Yeah," Finn sighed. "You're right."

He was hunched over his shovel, and Burt knew his answer was hard to hear. But that was life, and some things were going to be hard, and in the end what he'd told Finn was true – he had to make up his own mind.

"Come on," he told his stepson. "Let's finish this and go inside. We could get a little wild and have hot chocolate before your mom or Kurt come home and yell at us for not drinking herbal tea."

"That stuff tastes like dead leaves," Finn agreed, a real smile appearing on his face.

"I couldn't agree more." They went back to their shoveling. It was cold outside and he shouldn't be here, but Burt knew that tonight, this was exactly where he belonged.

  
 **The Master Bedroom**

  
Carole had just turned off the shower when the door to the bathroom opened. When she stepped out, Burt was there, smiling at her. _That_ smile.

"What?" Carole asked, her voice a cross between sensuous and teasing.

"Kurt's sleeping over at Mercedes' house," Burt said. "And Finn is staying with Puck."

Carole snorted, and then affected an innocent expression. "So our parents are out and we have the house to ourselves?" she teased. She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the shower.

"What's that for?" Burt asked, indicating the towel.

"Oh, come on. You have to work for it a _little_."

"Really." Burt took off his cap and tossed it to the sink. "You think I didn't plan on working for it? With the kids gone, I thought I could chase you around the house naked."

They looked at each other, and then both cracked up. Carole laughed so hard she had to hang on to the sink for balance. She finally managed to straighten her face long enough to say, "We could do it in one of the boys' rooms." That set them off in fresh gales of laughter.

Eventually they calmed down again. "So," Burt said, sounding more serious this time, "I realize the chasing part probably isn't really something either of us want to do, but did you want to?"

"Mmm. I don't know." Carole stepped closer and began unbuttoning his shirt. "I think, right now," she kissed his shoulder, "I'd rather just have a nice night in here without having to worry that our sons will know exactly what we're doing and be scarred for life."

He wrapped his arms around her. "I think I can handle that."

It wasn't that Carole didn't think about the… well, not _kinky_ , but just _different_ side of having sex somewhere else in the house. But the simple fact was they weren't as young (and she wasn't as flexible) as they used to be, and sex on a counter top or sex on a narrow couch or sex on the floor just didn't sound as _good_ as sex in a king-sized bed with a brand new mattress and soft sheets. There were knees to consider and upholstery that could be stained, not to mention there were certain supplies closer at hand in the bedroom. And it was absolutely, positively worth it- there was absolutely no doubt in her mind about that.

They lay together afterwards, wrapped around each other and sweaty and panting. "This is nice," Carole murmured. "I could get used to it."

"In a couple of years, it will just be you and me," Burt pointed out.

"Mmm. Not sure I want to think about that yet."

"I know." He brushed her hair back and kissed the back of her neck. "But it'll happen."

"Yeah. It's just that it's always been me and Finn, you know?" Burt nodded. "And now… now it's me and Finn and you and Kurt. I don't know how I'm going to handle it when it's just you and me and Finn and Kurt are gone."

"Hey," he said, sitting up, "they're not ever gonna leave. Not for good. You know that, right?"

"I know." She sighed. "And that's part of it, I guess. I've been 'Mom' for so long and I so rarely get to be anything else."

Burt sat up fully. "This has been building for a while now, hasn't it?"

Carole blinked. "No. Not really." He gave her a flat, knowing stare that meant he wasn't buying her bullshit. "Well, yes. But not like that. Not with you."

"But it's there."

"It's not a problem," Carole backtracked, sitting up herself. "It's not. Is it?"

"Not for me," Burt said. "But I'm not you." Carole bit her lip. "Look," Burt said, his hand finding her knee, "this isn't a problem, but it's something, and it's something real. 'Cause what I'm hearing right now is that you and me? We've got to make sure we make time for each other. Without the boys. Because between me running a business and you on shift work and all the craziness of having two teenagers in the house, we've got to make sure that there's an us." He gestured back and forth between them. "Because when it comes down to it, we're what holds this family together. Without this, there's no family."

Carole nodded.

Burt smiled. "And not to mention, I love Finn. Don't get me wrong. But I married _you._ There's a lot of this relationship I don't want being a package deal."

"Which is why we didn't have sex on Finn's or Kurt's bed," Carole said, and Burt swatted her playfully. "No, you're right. We just need to make time for ourselves."  
"Well, this was a good start," Burt said. "And we've got the house for the rest of the night… including the TV. We can watch whatever we want."

"I'll break out the champagne," Carole laughed, sliding out of bed and finding a robe.

In just a few years, Finn would be in college. Carole had spent so much of her life dreading it, that it was hard to believe that now, she had a reason to look forward to it. And as she and Burt relaxed on the sofa together, cuddled under a blanket with a fire in the fireplace and a movie on the TV, she realized that the rest of her life was going to be like this… not alone, but with Burt. And if tonight was any indication, it was going to be a lot better than Carole had ever imagined.

  
 **The Staircase**

  
Kurt didn't bother to set his alarm. The sun would wake him up in plenty of time, and he'd have the house to himself for the morning. So he was a little surprised he was up so early, but he trudged down the stairs in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes and hearing a bustle down below.

"Hurry up," he heard his dad saying. "We're going to be late. Service starts in half an hour."

"I'm coming," Finn groused back. The door slammed, and Kurt figured they were gone. He started down the stairs again.

He was almost down when he heard Carole's heels clicking on the hardwood floor of the foyer. She was hustling to get her coat from the front closet when she spotted him. "Kurt!"

"Good morning."

"Good morning, honey." She looked uncomfortable. "Did you want us to wait for you?"

"No." They'd had this conversation before. "I just got up earlier than I thought I would."

"All right." Carole shifted. "It's just… if you ever did change your mind, you'd be welcome to come."

"I know," Kurt said tightly. He was pretty sure his eyes were flashing, and Carole nodded. "But you don't need to keep asking."

Carole's gaze was level. "Kurt, this is only the second time I've mentioned it."

He felt like he should flush, because she was right. Instead, he shifted tactics. "Why do you make Finn go?" he asked. "I thought he was agnostic."

"Agnostic is different than atheist," Carole answered. "He doesn't have to believe, but I'd like him to have all the information so he can decide for himself."

"Information?" Kurt asked. "A collection of unverifiable tales that have been told and retold to suit the purposes of various governments is information?"

"Kurt, I respect that you don't believe in God," Carole said firmly. "Please respect the fact that I do."

He definitely overstepped that time. "All right," he sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Carole was light.

"So why don't you make me go? I'm not trying to be rude," Kurt added hastily, although he was, a little bit. "But if you're actually making Finn go-"

"Because this is one of those times I just leave the matter in your father's hands," Carole said with a shrug. "And he's right. Dragging Finn to church means he might hear something that can guide him in his own life. Dragging you to church would just set your mind even harder against God." She smiled. "And you're right. It is rude."

He waited, but she didn't say any more. "What?" Kurt finally asked. "Nothing about how this church is different and they accept homosexuals, or that they are open and tolerant, and that if I just listened I might change my mind?"

"No," Carole said. "You know all that. We wouldn't go ourselves if that was a problem." She came closer and stood up on her toes to kiss Kurt on the cheek. "We'll see you later. Get your head start on your homework."

Kurt watched her go, still standing on the stairs and holding the banister.

His father had only sporadically dragged him to church before. Kurt remembered his dad saying that he hadn't lost God, he was just pissed off at him for taking his mom. For years, church had figured in his life only on Christmas and Easter.

Now, with Carole in their family, Sunday mornings were, more often than not, church mornings. His father had joined her more happily than Kurt would have believed, and even Finn's protests often seemed more token than genuine. His dad seemed more at peace, and although Kurt wanted to contribute that entirely to Carole, he knew it wasn't the whole answer. His dad was on speaking terms with God again.

Kurt didn't believe in God. He was sure nothing was ever going to change that, and that was _fine_. But this morning, standing alone on the steps, it was the first time he wished he wanted to believe. Not because he wanted to believe in some all-powerful, all-encompassing love, but because it was something that Finn and his dad and Carole all shared, and he was the one who didn't. Because they went to church as a family, and he was the one who stayed home. He wished that he could even want that faith, because he didn't want to be on the outside looking in once again.

He shook himself and headed back down the stairs. He was being ridiculous. He had two hours while they were all out, and a lot of homework to get started on in that time.

  
 **The Kitchen**

  
"For crying out loud, Finn, it would help if you wouldn't put things on the top shelf," Kurt said, straining to reach a glass.

"Sorry," Finn said sheepishly and got the glass down for Kurt. Kurt gave him one of those exasperated looks, and then poured himself some juice.

"You really want to do this?" he asked Finn. "You could always just stay on cleanup duty."

"Yeah, no. I really want to do this," Finn said. "I mean, I don't know that I'm going to get married right out of college, right?"

"Or that your wife will be able to cook," Kurt pointed out.

"I thought all girls could cook," Finn said.

Kurt sighed. "I swear, you are completely and utterly dense at times." But there was no heat to it. Finn had learned that most of Kurt's comments were meant to be wry and witty worldly views of life. They weren't, a lot of times – at least not as much as Kurt thought they were – but that's what they were intended to be. Kurt was a lot easier to live with once you installed the filter in your head that took out the drama.

"Come on," Finn said. "Teach me."

"What did you have in mind?"

Finn put the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook on the island. "Your dad swears by this one."

"It's basic, but reliable," Kurt agreed. "Good choice."

Finn smiled. "I was thinking chili," he said, flipping to the Soups and Stews section.

"Chili," Kurt said flatly.

"Yeah, chili. It's marked 'easy'," Finn pointed out hopefully. "And it's not full off weird stuff like lemongrass and fruit and orca-"

"Okra, you mean?"

"Whatever. All that stuff that you use. Not that it doesn't taste good," Finn backtracked immediately, because Kurt _was_ a damn good cook. "But I figure I'd better figure mastering the basics before I try any of that stuff."

Kurt nodded, obviously impressed. "That does make a surprising amount of sense. Chili it is."

They worked together companionably. The recipe was simple- basically cutting things up and dumping them into a pot. It took concentration, and he could have done without the stinging eyes from the onion, but Finn was pleasantly surprised to find out it wasn't anywhere as hard as he thought.

It didn't take the long until they had the chili simmering on the stove. Kurt washed the cutting board and knives while Finn cleaned off the island. "It smells good," Finn said, impressed with himself.

Kurt smiled over his shoulder. "It does," he admitted.

"I might even get wild and make a salad."

"Beyond tearing open the bag?" Kurt teased, one eyebrow raised. "I thought even you could handle that."

"And if I'm really crazy, I'll slice some bread," Finn added on. They laughed. "Seriously. Thanks. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be."

"Most things are," Kurt said in one of those deceptively light voices that meant he was probably thinking about something else. And maybe he was.

They'd lived together for two months now. Finn had been getting used to the idea - _really_ getting used to the idea – of them being "brothers" ever since their parents told them they were getting married, but it had always been some big word emblazoned on his mind. Some big deal that required an elaborate production number and big gestures. But tonight, working in the kitchen together, it just seemed _easy._

"What?" Kurt asked. "Do I have something on my face?"

Finn realized he was staring. "No," he said, going over to root through the refrigerator for the salad. "Just… thinking we work well together."

"Mmm." Kurt sounded so above it all, but when Finn glanced back over his shoulder, he could see Kurt watching him, obviously pleased. He backed himself out of the fridge.

This was the point where maybe he should have said _I love you._ But he had no idea how Kurt would take that, and besides, dudes didn't say stuff like that anyway. Even if they were brothers, and especially when neither of them were dying or getting married or drunk or something. But he smiled at Kurt and Kurt smiled back, and Finn was pretty sure he knew it, and that he felt the same.

And really, just knowing was all they needed.

  
 **The Family Room**

  
"It's a Saturday night," Burt said, looking around the dinner table in shock. "You're both sixteen. Why is everybody home?"

Finn shrugged. "Didn't have a date and nothing good's playing at the movies."

"Blaine had a family wedding and Mercedes has a church thing."

"Don't look at me," Carole said. "I was actually _supposed_ to be home."

"Well, huh," was all Burt could say.

Finn eyed him suspiciously. "You're not going to make us paint again, are you?"

"I think we've painted every room in the house," Carole said.

"Except yours," Kurt muttered at Finn.

"I did, and the paint in there is fine!"

"If you're living in a war zone."

"Enough," Burt said, interrupting the bickering. He felt like there should be a game or some family oriented activity like that, but he really didn't feel like it. Besides, Kurt and Carole and a Scrabble board was something that he and Finn were learning to dread. Both Kurt and Finn subsided into silence.

They were moping. Burt was pretty sure of it at dinner, but he was even more sure after, when they both disappeared upstairs and the discordant sounds of the _Les Mis_ soundtrack and a slow drum beat drifted downstairs. He couldn't blame them; between Rachel, that Karofsky kid, Kurt transferring, and adjusting to a whole new family, not to mention all the normal stuff, it had been a tough few months for both of them. "I'm going out for a few minutes," he told Carole.

"And leaving me in the house of gloom? I don't think so," Carole said, grabbing her coat. "Let's go."

They took their time going to the video store, the grocery store, and Burt convinced Carole (with very little arm twisting) to stop for ice cream. When they arrived home with four sundaes, both boys were downstairs in the family room, playing a video game together. They were shooting something – zombies, it looked like - but neither of them looked engaged. Finn was wearing sweatpants and Kurt was wearing pajama bottoms, and somehow that fact more than anything else drove home how worn down they both were tonight.

"I've got ice cream," Burt announced as Carole disappeared into the kitchen to put the groceries away.

"Dad!" Kurt went into mother hen mode. "You know you're supposed to be watching your diet, and the fat and sugar in-"

"One hot fudge sundae isn't going to kill me," Burt patted him down. "Or you, for that matter." He held the sundae out to Kurt, who took it like it might explode.

"Thanks," Finn said as he took his, with no similar compunctions.

"Got us a movie, too," Burt said. "So save your game or whatever-"

"We don't really need to," Kurt said.

"Yeah, we were just killing time," Finn agreed. He turned off the console and flopped down on the floor again, turning to his ice cream. Kurt settled on the loveseat, legs crossed as he dug into his own sundae with much more delicacy than Finn was using. Burt waited for either of them to ask about the movie, but neither of them showed any interest, so he just popped it in.

" _How To Train Your Dragon?_ " Kurt coughed. "Dad, you do know we're in high school, right?"

"I know," Burt said. "But Dan down at the garage got stuck watching it this weekend with his kid. Said it was actually really good. Like those Pixar flicks."

"I'm sure someone in Pixar is having spasms from you comparing the two," Kurt muttered.

"Yeah, well, they ain't here," Burt pointed out.

Carole returned and handed out sodas to the boys and a beer to Burt, and then sat down on the couch next to him with her glass of wine and her ice cream. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nope." Burt started the movie.

It actually _was_ a good movie. And as they watched it, Burt could feel the tension in the boys dissipate a bit. By the time the ice cream was gone, Finn was outright laughed in one spot, and Kurt had laid down on the loveseat, snuggled under the quilt made from his mother's clothes that Carole had given him for Christmas. Carole leaned her head on Burt's shoulder, and the whole room just seemed closer and warmer than it had when they'd come in the door.

There was a picture on the wall, one that had been taken at the wedding. It was the four of them holding their champagne glasses: Burt, Finn, and Kurt in tuxes, Carole in her gown. Burt remembered that particular picture being taken, when they had been toasting the fact that they were now a family.

The picture looked good. _Really_ good. Everyone dressed up, good smiles on all their faces. And they had become a family that day. But that wasn't family. Not just that, anyway.

Family was living together. Family was Kurt and Finn bickering one minute and playing video games the next. Family was him and Carole going to glee concerts and basketball games and whatever else the boys came up with, but going out to dinner and sneaking upstairs. Family was Kurt standing on the stairs when they went to church and Finn keeping Burt from shoveling the snow and Carole having quilts made and Burt stepping back when he needed to. Family was the place where you came at the end of a hard day, and just by being together and watching a movie, the day seemed a little better. This was family, and a family didn't live in a house; they lived in a home.

And this was definitely home.


End file.
